


head's a little lighter (OD on you again)

by troiing



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Desk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 00:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13283403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troiing/pseuds/troiing
Summary: Pippa steps back—registers at last the unfamiliar fabric beneath her fingertips, lets her eyes drift downward. She takes in the soft black blouse, the particular fall of her watch chain, the high waist of the long pencil skirt accented by a thin, decorative belt rather than the girdles she so favors.She can’t help staring.“Er… Pippa?” Hecate asks eventually, interrupting Pippa’s examination.Pippa’s face snaps up to gaze at Hecate through lowered lashes, favoring her lower lip between her teeth. For once, she has the decency to blush.





	head's a little lighter (OD on you again)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theadmiralscoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadmiralscoffee/gifts).



> Props to tumblruser monsterintheballroom for the screengrab of Hecate in the damn skirt and blouse ensemble that inspired this smutfest.  
> Aside from that, this is all janetfraiser's fault.
> 
> Matildaswan is hella rad as ever. Thanks for putting up with my thoroughly unedited rough drafts, your willingness to read shit multiple times, and for being a general good influence even if I'm a rebellious shit about it.

Pippa is waiting for Hecate when she arrives on the fourth day of the summer break, smiling and luminous as the sun against the lush green grass of Pentangle’s courtyard. She’s all in pink—of course she is—clad in a knee-length dress reminiscent of the ones she favors during the school year, but lighter, collarless, a celebration of the freedom of the end of term and fair summer days. Her hair, too, is free, flying windblown behind her as she shields her eyes and rushes forward to meet Hecate where she lands.

She looks even more soft and inviting than usual.

“Well met, darling,” she gushes, giving Hecate just enough time to return the greeting before flinging her arms around her shoulders, brushing her lips across her cheek as she pulls her into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Already rosy-cheeked from her flight, Hecate blushes all the more at the effusive greeting. She pulls Pippa close to hug her in return. “It’s good to see you, Pipsqueak,” she replies, soft and warm and content.

Pippa hums in response, satisfaction radiating off her as she waves her hand, banishing Hecate’s traveling case, broomstick, cloak, and hat off to her rooms (no, no, _their_ rooms, she reminds herself with a thrill, at least for the next week).

“That’s that taken care of,” she says warmly, finally pulling away, just enough to meet Hecate’s eyes. She brings her hands to Hecate’s shoulders, absently caressing the smooth material of her blouse. “How was your flight, Hiccup?” she inquires, all sunshine-warmth, searching Hecate’s slightly wind-flushed cheeks, drinking in her soft, tiny, contented, shy smile with delight.

“Windier than expected,” Hecate replies. The question serves as a reminder of how disheveled she feels; she instinctively smoothes down the front of her lightweight blouse and resettles her watch chain around her neck before reaching up to tame a few flyaway strands of hair. Like Pippa, her ensemble was chosen with the warmer weather in mind, but she is unaccustomed to the lighter, less form-fitting nature of the silk blouse. She’s certain it’s not as tightly-tucked into the high waist of her skirt as it was when she left Cackle’s a few short hours ago.

Pippa steps back as Hecate completes this self-examination—registers at last the unfamiliar fabric beneath her fingertips, lets her eyes drift downward. She takes in the soft black blouse, the fall of the watch chain between her breasts, the high waist of the long pencil skirt accented by a thin, decorative belt rather than the girdles she so favors.

She can’t help staring.

“Er… Pippa?” Hecate asks eventually, interrupting Pippa’s examination.

Pippa’s face snaps up to gaze at Hecate through lowered lashes, favoring her lower lip between her teeth. For once, she has the decency to blush.

“Perhaps somewhere more private?” she offers in lieu of explanation, slipping her hands from Hecate’s shoulders to rematerialise them in her office with a flick of her wrists.

Hecate watches, nonplussed, as Pippa’s eyes flicker down to her hips again to linger. She feels fingers dance toward the center of her chest, touching either side of her watch chain, tracing it down between her breasts. 

The cool weight of the watch itself is in Pippa’s hands, her thumbs tracing the delicate designs, though her eyes never leave Hecate’s body.

Pippa’s original itinerary for the day had included: catching up over tea, a healthy cuddling session in front of the fire—for as modern as her school’s principles may be, the castle is still drafty—a nice supper, and a stroll along the grounds if the weather was kind, followed by a great deal of exquisite sex and a night curled comfortably in her girlfriend’s arms. 

_But_ ,Pippa thinks as she lets her gaze continue to linger on Hecate just a little longer, _if rules were made to be broken, itineraries were made to be shuffled_.

She lifts her eyes again to Hecate’s face, and doesn’t even try to tamp down the delight, nor the predatory smile on her lips; sets free the want coursing through her and offers Hecate a decidedly _naughty_ look, relishing in the flush Hecate returns.

"I like this," she growls, crowding Hecate backwards to end up against the desk, nipping at her jaw as her fingers trail downward to curl into the fabric of her silk blouse. 

Hecate's eyes widen, breath coming up short in her lungs. Pippa is all feral hunger, want, need. Things Hecate never associated with Pippa until she did—things that made complete sense after she witnessed them. Pippa has always been all or nothing, wildfires of passion in everything she does. It suits her.

And it makes Hecate ache; she, too, feels everything too fully, too completely, too much for anyone else to notice. Pippa is better at showing it, at being seen, but Hecate is learning.

"My—my blouse?" she asks, carefully-cultivated composure burnt away by the sudden heat in Pippa's eyes.

"Mm... all of this," Pippa corrects her, preoccupied with freeing the tails of Hecate's blouse from the high waistline of her skirt. "It's different. Looks _ravishing_ on you." 

Her fingers stretch beneath Hecate's blouse, search warm flesh just above the waist of her skirt, and then her fingers find the narrow belt; she cinches it tighter to free the tongue, and leather slips through belt loops—a startling new sensation that leaves Hecate panting.

Pippa nuzzles into her neck, tongue darting out to tease at her pulse point. "Only my girl would visit me in an ankle-length pencil skirt," she says, all low heat. Her elbow lurches back, and the belt hits the floor with the soft metallic clatter of the buckle.

“It’s… it’s the same principle, isn’t it? As a dress?” Hecate asks, unsure how to phrase the observation but knowing, even as she makes it, that she is wrong; that maybe they fit the same, but that she has never felt Pippa’s hands beneath her clothes like this, undressing her piece by piece.

Pippa’s hands slide up to work at the buttons of her blouse, and she _purrs_ as their mouths meet, as she presses her tongue searchingly against Hecate’s lips and into her mouth. Hecate whimpers—at the kiss, at the feel of Pippa’s hips and thighs pressed squarely against hers, Hecate’s backside into the unyielding edge of the desk—and it’s all she can do to maintain any composure at all.

Pippa breaks the kiss only to catch her lower lip between her teeth, breath hitching as she pulls the last button free. “In silhouette, maybe,” she says belatedly, almost absently. She drops one swift kiss to Hecate’s bare collarbone, then grabs her by the hips and spins her around; Hecate doesn’t try to resist—doesn’t think to, doesn’t _want_ to—lands her hands on the edge of the desk to steady herself, bent over the desk and trying desperately not to whimper. Pippa presses her body flush against Hecate’s back, lips to the shell of her ear. “But let’s save the fashion talk for the beauty magazines, hmm?”

Hecate forgets to breathe. Barely manages to choke out, “ _Yes_.”

Pippa reaches up, slides the shirt down Hecate’s shoulders, and hums, “Thought so.”

Hecate pushes herself upright, rolls her shoulders back; Pippa flicks her fingers, magicking the forgotten cuff buttons undone before pulling the blouse off Hecate’s arms and down to the floor. 

“Goddess,” she murmurs, a little breathless, gaze searching the pale flesh of Hecate’s back, watching her muscles move as she shifts, leaning over the desk again.She allows herself a moment before moving forward once more, pressing against the length of Hecate’s body, kissing a twitching scapula. She wraps an arm around her to cup her breast (Hecate whimpers, sucks her teeth), slides her other hand against the revealed flesh of her back. 

“You’re so beautiful, Hecate,” she murmurs, letting her teeth graze along her spine, fingers kneading at the understated black of Hecate’s bra. “I love—” She pauses at Hecate’s whine, leans her brow against the nape of Hecate’s neck as she pulls both hands back around again. “You. This, all of this.” Her fingers slip beneath the clasps, unhooking Hecate’s bra with ease. “You most of all,” she breathes, smoothing her fingers against Hecate’s skin, feeling every trembling breath, feeling each muscle she engages breathing from her belly, counting silently to herself: in five, out five.

Pippa arcs her hips back, makes just enough room for her hands: mumbles " _okay?_ " as her fingers find Hecate's zip and give it a tug. (Hecate nods, exhales a breathless _'yes'_.) Pippa looses the zip enough to tease the fingers of her right hand past the waistband, across Hecate's hip, down to the apex of her thighs to stroke softly at her core through the thin, damp fabric of her knickers, free hand bracing her hip, fingers pressing firmly into her skin.

Hecate mewls at the touch, subtle though it is; feels, _feels_ Pippa’s lips curl against her neck, feels her smile, wants to _devour_ what she knows is an impossibly smug look.

“ _Darling_ ,” Pippa breathes, so _hungrily_ Hecate's breath hitches again.

“Pippa,” Hecate replies, knuckles white against the edge of the desk, shifting her hips backward against Pippa’s in an unspoken request for _more_.

Pippa hums a response, tugs the zip down a little further. Slips her free hand into Hecate's knickers, across her backside, still teasing through the damp material with her other hand. _Squeezes,_ moans a breathy note of pleasure at the soft skin and firm muscles underneath her fingertips, her shortened, dulled nails.

Hecate breathes raggedly, eking out every bit of space she can find in her skirt, spreading her thighs a little wider, wide enough for Pippa to slip a finger through her slick folds.

“Oh, Hiccup,” Pippa groans as she sinks a finger into the heat of her, nips at a smooth white shoulder as Hecate bites back an outcry, grinding back into the touch.

“Pippa, _please_ ,” Hecate begs, a desperate and empty plea, but one Pippa understands.

She doesn’t challenge, doesn’t ask anything more, only teases a second finger in and thrusts, short and measured, breathing a pleased, quiet laugh as Hecate bucks against her hand, wanton and desperate in the wake of Pippa’s desire. Scraping her teeth along Hecate’s back, she curls her fingers into wet fabric, and this time Hecate does cry out, fingers losing traction, sliding forward, one arm stretched out across the desk. Pippa follows her, breath hot on her skin as she leans her forehead against Hecate’s back, delighting at having Hecate in her arms like this, all hers.

She can feel the tension building, feels Hecate on edge and climbing, _climbing_. Hecate can’t hold back her whimpers anymore, hips twitching, directionless, into Pippa's hands. Pippa gasps against her skin, revels at Hecate's need, nips again at the skin of her back to elicit a strangled yelp.

“Hecate?” she asks after a moment, letting the note of question hang in the air while Hecate wets her lips, grits her teeth, musters enough control to form speech.

“Yes,” she says roughly, simply. And then, more emphatically: “Yes. _Please._ ”

Pippa obliges: slips the fingers of her right hand into Hecate’s knickers. Hecate keens, so close—dizzy at the first direct stroke to her clitoris, gasping helplessly as she slams her eyes shut. 

“That’s my girl,” Pippa murmurs, nuzzling her skin, teasing her finger in a circle around Hecate’s clit before trying another more direct touch; she twists her other hand, sinking her fingers deep into Hecate’s searing heat. “ _My_ girl. Come for me.”

Within moments, Hecate comes crashing over the edge, hard and fast and _magnificent_. Her muscles clench around Pippa as she guides her through it with a few more strokes, cupping her mound with her other hand as Hecate goes limp and boneless in her arms.

When she comes down, leaning exhausted on her elbows against the desk, Pippa is stroking her hips with one hand, the dense curls of her bush with the other—softly, so softly, lips tracing delicate paths against the twitching muscles of her back. Hecate stays there for a span, regaining her equilibrium and a little of her strength, listening to Pippa’s slightly heavy breathing and timing her own breaths to match. 

When her composure returns, she pushes herself upright, lets the bra straps drop down her arms, the bra falling forgotten to the floor.

Her composure may have returned, Pippa observes, but not her sense of decorum. She likes this, this Hecate, _very_ much. Moves to stroke both hands along Hecate’s waist, then up to her ribs; lets her fingers trace them around to her front, below her breasts—an innocent enough touch, but an intimate one.

“Alright?” she asks softly, reveling in Hecate’s warm, soft skin, leaning in close.

But Hecate does not answer. Instead, she twists from the hips, loops an arm around Pippa’s body and spins Pippa in front of her and leans her back against the desk.

Pippa looks up into the heat of Hecate’s eyes, thinks she might melt. “Oh,” she breathes.

Hecate rushes forward, as if on cue, to kiss her fiercely, hungrily. Pippa moans, parts her lips for Hecate’s greedy tongue, rocking her hips up against Hecate's body, and suddenly finds herself quite thoroughly naked.

Hecate breaks the kiss, a moment of question in her eyes, a glaring uncertainty in the wake of such a bold move, for her, at least.

Pippa can only grin at her, the most lascivious one she has in her repertoire. “Thats cheating,” she says, tucking her fingers beneath the band of Hecate's skirt to find that it once again sits snug around her waist. 

Her breath hitches: Hecate choosing to remain half-dressed while she has Pippa naked against a desk awakens a new and irrepressible hunger in Pippa. But before she can say or do anything else, before she has time to completely process their positions, Hecate presses a single kiss to her breastbone and drops to her knees in front of her, heedless of the hard stone hiding beneath the thin area rug.

She’s _wet_ ; by the way Hecate lets her gaze flick up to meet Pippa’s, something coy about her expression as she nuzzles into Pippa’s bush, letting her lip brush against the slick heat of her, she wants to tell Pippa this. But instead she grins, _grins_ , feral and ravenous and just the tiniest, _tiniest_ bit shy.

“Oh, Hiccup,” Pippa says, almost a whisper, voice caught in her throat, and it’s all the invitation Hecate needs.

She settles one of Pippa’s legs over her shoulder. Spreads her wide with one hand and strokes Pippa’s thigh with the other. Pippa reflexively reaches for Hecate’s head, needing to touch her, and Hecate’s eyes flutter shut at the nails against her scalp; the dichotomy of the presence of her tongue and the absence of her gaze is too much.

“No, no, look at me,” Pippa orders, _begs_ , and Hecate’s eyes fly open again. “That’s my girl,” she breathes, all radiant smiles and dark-eyed want.

She finds a pin in Hecate’s hair, frees it, and another, lays them to the side. Manages to remove a third, but doing this by hand is too much, and she wants her fingers in Hecate’s hair _now_.

“Hiccup.” She gasps at Hecate’s hum of acknowledgement, at the way it courses through her centre. “Your hair.”

The gleam in Hecate’s eyes is almost too much. She closes them for only a moment, gestures with her fingers, and her hair comes cascading down—behind her shoulders, against Pippa’s thighs, into Pippa’s waiting hands. She shivers, tangles her fingers in the hair at Hecate’s scalp.

It’s she, not Hecate, who breaks eye contact when it becomes all too much, when she comes too close to the edge. 

She throws her head back, eyes shut, leaving Hecate to gaze up the perfect arc of her body, lips closed around her clit, nails biting into the perfect, supple flesh of her thigh. She comes with a shout, a ragged sob, a tug at Hecate’s hair; rides out her orgasm with a string of nonsense praise falling from her lips like a prayer.

She sags against the desk, exhausted and spent, and Hecate guides Pippa’s leg down, standing slowly. Leans in, wraps an arm around Pippa’s waist, lifts from beneath her thigh with her free hand, deposits Pippa easily in a more comfortable position on the edge of the desk. 

Pippa keeps her fingers tangled in Hecate’s hair, thumbs stroking her scalp absently as Hecate tilts her forehead against Pippa’s. For a moment, they are breathing the same air, heady and warm. Then Hecate leans forward, reaches behind Pippa. Brushes a few odds and ends out of the way and, as Pippa stretches out across the desk, leans on her elbows again and rests her brow against the base of Pippa’s ribs, the watch around her neck cold against Pippa’s belly.

Pippa sighs, breath slowing, the sheen of sweat across her body cooling. She lifts her legs, closes her thighs around Hecate’s hips for lack of a better, more comfortable position. Reaches down to stroke Hecate’s shoulders softly, letting her hair gather around them like a curtain.

“That was good,” she says after a span. “More than. _Goddess_ , that was good.”

Hecate only hums agreement, breath hot on Pippa’s diaphragm.

“Made a mess of the place though, haven’t we?” Pippa continues, a laugh edging at her voice. “I’ll expect you to clean this up.”

Hecate laughs a low and animalistic rumble of a laugh, and Pippa can’t help but twist her fingers into her hair again. “You started it,” she replies, so quietly that Pippa almost doesn’t hear her.

“You finished it,” Pippa shoots back, lowering a hand to Hecate’s shoulder, stroking up her neck and down her arm again.

But Hecate glances up, and that familiar hunger is still there, sending a fresh surge of desire directly to Pippa’s core. Voice low and smooth like honey, tempting as the feasts of faeries, she asks: “What makes you think I’m finished?”

The breath seizes in Pippa’s chest for a moment, her eyes widening at Hecate’s smirk. She buries both hands in Hecate’s hair, manages a breath and a single word, an order. “ _Bed_.”

Hecate grins, drops a heated kiss to her belly, and obliges.


End file.
